5387/=The Statement of Dr. Henry Pym

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=The Statement of Dr. Henry Pym
Date of Scene: 01 March 2021
Location: Pym's Midtown Lab
Synopsis: Wym errr Win for the Pyms! Pot roast made available.
Cast of Characters: Hank Pym, Michael Hannigan, Megan Gwynn, Amanda Sefton, Nadia Pym-van Dyne, Illyana Rasputina

Hank Pym has posed:
The new lab is quiet at the moment. Hank is still stuck at 12 feet of height and sitting in his equally huge recliner. He'd shut the monitors down a while ago. Too depressing. Only the timer on the serum compiler continues to count down.

He feels his huge heart beat in his chest sluggishly and takes a hit of oxygen from a face mask. So... the magic crew doesn't text. Do they fly in on a carpet or float through the walls or are they just there when it's time? He fiddles with a couple of photos and puts them inside the gaudy yellow costume, next to the letter he wrote. No one is getting those unless he actually kicks it. With his luck he'd make some tearful confession and survive like a chump. So it goes. So it goes. Five minutes left on the serum production. The three serums are slowly filling the three needles. Mad science stuff.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Having a bit more warning to the plans for tonight, Mike has been busy. First he made a phone call to Amanda and after explaining the situation, he started on the pot roast.

Pot roast?

Seriously. It's currently situated in the slow cooker plugged in over at the kitchenette portion of the living area of the new lab. Doors have been closed to cut back on any distracting scents that may come from the food that's been slow cooking for hours. Should a certain formula wielding scientist happen to summon a being that works for offerings of food. Well. They can have first dibs. And if not, there will be plenty of folks to split up the food afterwards.

Well, Assuming Hank returns to normal size.

Slow cooker secured, the pony tailed musician makes his way into the lab area. Glancing up to the large scale Pym. "Hanging in there?" He asks.

Megan Gwynn has posed:
Megan Gwynn follows closely after Mike, hoping to check up on Shannon and of course Hank seemed stressed lately too, although she doesn't know the whole story. "Hii! it's new! oooh is that pot roast?" her mouth starts watering, totally starving. oh wait that's probably not for her. Still...

She peers waaay up at the giant Hank, "Ummm...Sooo...What's up? You're all...Big.."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
When Amanda arrives, it's with little fanfare. She knocks on the lab door and waits to be let in. She's really not sure what to expect, given the little Mike was able to tell her. She has some experience mixing magic and technology, however. And she's a helluva healer in a pinch, able to bring people back from the brink of death. With luck, that won't be necessary. But if the man is going to take his chances with his life, she can be here to try and make sure he keeps it.

So, when she finally does enter, she gives Mike a simple nod in greeting, extending it to the others as well. "Dr. Pym," she greets, looking up at him. "I hear you're in a bit of a pickle." Soft English accent, tinged with a hint of German, and inevitable British understatement.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym smiles. He points to his nose and says, "Big nose? Good for sniffing. Pot roast? I can embiggen... it... no. I can't. Sorry."

He turns to Megan and says, "Yes. It's becoming a problem. Hard to breathe, all that. Shannon got a sleeping pill with her dinner by the way. I need her out of the way.

When Amanda is shown in he smiles at her and says, "How did you guess? Heheh. Basically my power is screwing up and killing me Megan. I have those three syringes filling with serum. I hope they'll cure me. But this is all science could do and likely will kill me. So I called in some favors for... magic. People say magic and science are at odds and antagonistic. I met a lot of magick people... one of them is my best friend. they're not my enemy. We just have different points of view. I'm hoping... you can swing the odds in my favor."

"Those three needles... I need to inject the red one into me first. Then the blue, then the white. Five minutes between injections... Mike... okay... Megan... could you oblige me? It's an intramusc... you don't need to find a vein. Arm will do or butt if I get too big or an... hang on..." He slowly gets to his feet and moves to carefully sit cross-legged in the midst of the floor. "Huuuuuh. The timer will tell you when to start and proceed. Do not give me the next shot before it beeps. No matter what."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike turns his head to look over towards Megan. "That's precautionary pot roast at the moment." He explains, expression turning to a grimace as he thinks about the phrasing. "...In case food offerings are needed." Ok better explanation but still-


Amanda's entrance is much appreciated to which Mike offers her the like in expression. "Evening, Amanda. Glad you could make it." He looks over to the pink haired mutant, "You've met Megan before, I believe."

As Hank goes into his instructions on what to do, Mike grows quiet listening. Ok. Red. Blue. White. That order.

When Hank is done, Mike looks to Amanda, "We're thinking Raphael's Flask might be helpful, but it might work better with more...oomph behind it."

Megan Gwynn has posed:
Megan Gwynn bliiiiinks in surprise. "Oh...Wow! that's uh, a BIG problem!" she peers around his lab, noticing the needles once he has pointed them out. "Huh, sooo stick it in your arm or your butt when the timer goes off. Sounds simple enough! where does the magic bit come in..?"

Mike's pot roast comment is given a weird look - does she want to know? But she recalls how he used healing magic to help out Shannon a while ago too. As Amanda steps in, she smiles and nods to her cheerfully, "Hi!"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda considers. "It might," she says to Mike. "But if it's a case of keeping his vitals stable, that may be something I can help with, beyond your Flask. It's... a separate talent from my magic, but healing is a specialty of mine." Indeed, it remains strong even when the rest of her magic is weak, which suggests it may not be absolutely tied to her magical talents, after all. She's never questioned it. She looks at Hank. "I can help keep you stable," she tells him. Or, at least, she can try. "And with the Flask working as well, it may be enough."

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
*Thunk* *Thunk* *Thunk* The sudden sound of someone pounding on the door fills the room. "Dad?! Dad?! I know you're in there! Open this door! You're up to something dangerous again aren't you! Stop evading my calls! The particle concentrations around this building are really obvious!" For anyone who has heard it before, that is very clearly the voice of Nadia, Hank's daughter.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym was reaching for a control when the shouting began. He pauses and then reaches for it. Raphael's Flask begins playing. The monitors begin displaying a decidedly odd set of equations. His ants come creeping out to watch.

Time for a clever diversion...

"NO I'M NOT! I'M BUSY AND NEED SOLITUDE. GO HOME TO YOUR 'T' IN METROPOLIS." He turns back to the magic crew.

Baudelaire the Ant continues creeping and opens the door, evidently fearing a growth fu kick to it. he wags his antennae at Nadia and takes another look and backs off. //Yikes! God Emperor of the Ants... He That Stays the Hand of the Great Glass Eye of Death... Little Empress here!// He skitters away.

"Oh Fuuuu... hello sweetheart."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Listening to the suggestion from Amanda, Mike gives a nod. "That might be better. Protection and maintenance instead of focusing on just one thing. Less of an eggs in one basket approach-"

Any continuation to the statement is halted as the pounding sounds echo through the building. His head turns, looking to the source with a sigh before turning to look back up to Pym. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda nods. She glances towards the door when the pounding starts. A wry smile touches her lips, her blonde brows creasing slightly. It's quite the relationship these two have. "With your permission, Doctor?" she says to him, golden light beginning to flood her eyes and surround her finger tips. "Let me see how you're doing."

That's the thing about healing. It requires the laying on of hands. At least, hers does. She saves the rest of her magic, rather than lifting herself up on an eldritch wind to touch Hank's shoulder, and simply steps forward to place hands gently on his side. Her glowing eyes close as she senses the depth of the 'wrongness' in his system. He doesn't do things by halves, does he?

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
The door opens and there stands Nadia in her Waspette armor minus the helmet, feet spread shoulder width apart, one of her gauntlets raised and pointed at where the lock had been until the door opened. She was almost certainly about to blow it straight off its hinges. She does not look happy. Peeking out from behind one of her legs is Foss the labrador-sized ant. It's a Pym thing.

"Hi Dad, what are you doing?" She asks with that 'I'm not angry (but definitely is)' tone. "Tell me what?" She asks Mike while her eyes scan the room noting the various scientific apparatuses, the colored vials, and Amanda with her hands on Hank.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym relates a very truncated version of his condition to Nadia. It seems truncated. The words are very big and esoteric. Some of the pain goes out of his voice as Amanda's healing magic proceeds.

"Now I want you to go. Because... everything is taken care of. I'm about to get a series of three shots that should straighten my nervous system and power usage out... I really wanted to spare you this. I'm really in good hands here." He looks at the young woman and with little regard for her anger or armor pulls her in for a hug with one arm. "I guess you can stay now. In any case you can probably get into biochemistry and perfect the serum... if you have to. You or Scott may need it down the road. Pixie... would you please give me the first injection and wait five minutes exactly." He holds his arm out.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Space and time are two sides of the same fabric. In many ways, they represent the exact same fabric at that. Fold with a seamstress' precision and the superpositioning of an entity in multiple places at once affirms quantum theory and geological intent. Illyana's coexistence might send a particular ripple through certain awareness only in the gravitational weight exuded by her spell-shattered aura, the kind of power that alerts one mage of another's presence. Ripples in the quiet, nothing more. For a second longer, another supernatural resonance dripping with infernal darkness and a weird ethereal distortion lingers outside the door like the cascading dust from a nebulous pillar in the cosmos.

Then it vanishes, leaving her with one sensational fruit basket and a bottle of wine tucked in there. The denizens of Limbo have a /particular/ sense of humour, one evidently arranged around depicting Baudelaire as a winged knight of some kind, galloping across the battlefield to presumably chase some wretched villainous soul. He's on the wine. He's on the fruit basket. He is somehow stamped into the skin of a mango, more the better, and that she carries in the crook of her arm.

A neat knock later, all is well. No evidence here of earth-rending intentions, though her black t-shirt and dark jeans are offset by a red swing-coat that has deceptively similar lines to her peer/boss in this realm.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike looks over to Nadia, and is about to speak before he sees a slightly more familiar face come to sight. "Just in time Illyana. We're about to start." He glances over to Hank, "Maybe we should take another minute or two to get our newest guests caught up on what it is we're doing before the first injection. Better now than in the middle of things."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda says nothing now, despite the newcomers arriving. Her concentration is on what's going on in Pym's body and blood. She hasn't seen much worse, really, off the battlefield. As Pixie gives him the serum, she turns her attention to just what its doing, and how it's helping... or what help it needs. She suspects it'll need help. But if she can keep him stable, that will probably be the best she can hope for.

She'll just trust the others to do the heavy magical lifting this time.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
Hank has only himself to blame for the expression on Nadia's face or perhaps genetics, that legendary Pym stubbornness. "I'm not going anywhere." She informs him while returning his hug, "And you should have told me. I was trained by the Red Room did you really think you were going to be able to hide something was wrong from me? I've rent space/time asunder to come when you were in trouble before, did you really think that door was going to stop me?"

As she gestures at the door she turns just enough to see Illyana appear behind her. She blinks once, blinks twice and then gives Illyana a big hug, "Illyana help my Dad, he's being dumb again! Why do male scientific geniuses always do dumb things and try not to tell anyone?!"

Hank Pym has posed:
Nadia may be glad of her armor. The first shot is administered and almost immediately her father clutches at her, his head dropping to his chest as he struggles with a convulsion. "Five minutes!" he gasps. He shakes even sitting cross legged he doesn't look too steady n the floor. He may even be exerting all his control to keep from breaking his daughter's ribs, armored or not. Then he smirks at Nadia. "I fooled you for months... since I met you. Red Room. Pfft. I will tell you about Comrade X after this... the idiot Soviet spy... I..." //I love you Nadia. Whatever happens, these last months... I'm glad I met you.//

He begins to shrink and painfully gets to his feet, grabbing a counter. He blinks at Nadia. "When did you get here? Okay Pixie... second shot... " As he speaks Nadia can feel the Pym particles in his body and aura flow into her, unstable, unbalanced. She gets a sense of what they did to her father, like the bends and falling every way at once. Pixie makes the shot, the syringe expanding as it empties to fall to the floor. He starts waving people back. Except Nadia who he still keeps an arm around.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Genius men do not communicate often and expect to solve their own problems," comes that judgment from a Russian born and bred, insouciantly blunt and cool as the boreal wind manouevring through shadowy evergreen forests. This constitutes a greeting from Illyana, though given events of recent days, she might have her reason to be slightly darker than the norm. Nadia throwing her arms around the Russian earns a stilling, a fatalistic acceptance that she will be embraced and possibly knocked over by this peculiar display of enthusiasm. Rather like a cat prepared for the scritchings. How dare she even enjoy it! Had she the right ears, they might flick. But apparently she is on Team Nadia for the nonce, difficult as that might be. There might even be a mild lean, a pat.

Once disengaged for Hank and Nadia to have their temporary tete-a-tete, she enters the room, taking up a look at Hank. Pale eyes give away little, though she follows some intangible current to Amanda, then back to Mike, upnodding to both. The fruit basket she puts down on the nearest flat surface, since having it float in midair would be unpleasant. "Convenient." Reaching into the brightly coloured tower, she plucks a ruby red apple as perfect as anything Snow White or Sleeping Beauty ever salivated over and tosses it to the dream-weaver. "The inside is red. Normal, like the die." A warning? Maybe. In the meantime, few preparations are needed otherwise. She slides on two rings to her right hand, a fused one for the left over a digit. None of them look remotely impressive, but they have a purpose, because the sorcery involved with her carries a wild charge. Tipping her palms forward, she sketches out an odd series of deliberate motions that rolls from one sinuous turn into the next jagged pull. Her fingers flex and switch positions, something that lacks the exact forms of Doctor Strange's magic but is a very clear sibling to that tradition. Just one infused by darker influences, given the proof of fiery strands ensorcelled into being around her and past Pym, whole constellations forged in crooked angles and sharp symmetries barely visible to the untrained eye.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Nadia's question and Illyana's response, in a less time senstive environment, may have had a comment added in by Mike. But upon seeing the first injection go into Hank, Mike mutters a curse before he steps back looking over to Illyana just in time to see the apple thrown to him.

Both hands lift up, arms bending to cushion the catch of the red fruit. He looks down to it as Illyana shares information regarding the apple being akin to the die. He looks up to the lady of Limbo, the side of his lips lifting upwards to a half smile as he gives a nod and turns.

Alright. They know what to do. The factor of Nadia is left to Hank. Steps relocate him over to the side of Pym where the shots are being administered but far enough back not to block Pixie from her assigned task. Ok so they're on the clock now.

Hands wrapped around the apple, fingertips barely press upon their mirror image while the base of the hands hold the apple within the fingery cocoon. Mike's head tilts. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He stills, listening to the song playing on the speakers.

As the song starts over on the speakers, the musician begins. Lips move as he lowly speaks the words in rhythm alongside the recording of his own voice.

It is good that Illyana came with the gift as it supplies just enough oomph to get things moving a little bit quicker. A flicker of light peeks from between the hands, traveling along the blood red apple skin.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda doesn't retreat from Pym's side. Instead, she ducks under his arm and moves around behind him. reaching up to put her hands as high on his back, near to his heart, albeit from behind, as she can. He convulses. Her power flares, sending warm, soothing waves through his body, encouraging it not to rip itself -- or anyone around it -- assunder. It wouldn't just be bad for Nadia or the others. It'd be pretty darn inconvenient for the Roma sorceress, herself.

Still, as most of her concentration is taken up with keeping the man's vitals stable, she doesn't spare much for the others, not due to discourtesy or disinterest, but because of priorities. She feels the rest of the magic rising around her and closes her eyes to block most of it out of her awareness. Nothing but the healing.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
"Da." Nadia agrees with Illyana's assessment. Illyana's presence seems to go further towards relaxing Nadia slightly than anything else. Her expression continues to grow more worried though. She does not point out to her father that he nearly collapsed in front of her at one point or what Vivian told her about his condition behind his back. It is not the time for any of that.

When Hank seems to lose his memory Nadia bites her lower lip out of concern, this is in some ways what her nightmares are made of, a situation completely out of her depth that all she can do is watch. Through it all though she continues supporting her father, helping him to remain upright, feeling the strange flow of his unstable unbalanced particles flowing into her. "Don't talk like that, you're going to be fine.." Her eyes moving from one to the next of the others present.

That is when she gets an idea, because in the end Nadia always has an idea, her own brand of Pym Quantum Sorcery perhaps. Closing her eyes she begins to focus both on her breathing and the flow of unstable particles coming from Hank. At the same time she focuses on her own healthy vibrant Pym Particles. It may be an insane gamble banking on her more resilient body thanks to the Red Room's modifications during her infancy, but she starts trying to consciously draw the unbalanced and unstable particles out of Hank into herself and replace them with her own potent vital healthy particles like a sort of transfusion. It's a somewhat insane idea, but that's the sort of insanity that runs in the family.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym has had the Pym particles in his body removed via technology when he enlarged Genosha. In his own words... forget his own words. they were mostly profanity anyway. Point is it hurt. The particles were now so intrinsic to him. He stepped up. But now? Magic, technology, Nadia making the Face.

He bites back on a scream and only partly succeeds. He looks at Nadia and blinks again. "I am only rarely fine. Janet is ever fine and the Captain... but I... am never dumb... close mouthed. You are the same way. We lie to spare each other and it never... fucking... works. Red... Room?? Remember that? And it's... good you're here... because I refuse to die with you here... and prove you right! And we will have a long talk. The first of many!" He winces again. then decides to get some say in the direction of his Pym particles. Let's give the girl a hand!! Let's hear it for his baby.

Some talk was made of Pym Particles being used as a propulsion device, shrinking and folding space. There is a flash of light and abruptly Nadia is gone reappearing on Hank's huge chair. The elder Pym is knocked flat by the discharge, narrowly missing Amanda, as in falling against her but not knocking her flat. He curls up on the floor. "Shot number three... almost there."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Insanity runs in the Pym family: friends must be swept up in it as a byproduct of association. Illyana can spare a little attention to read the measured results thus far. Amanda handling the physical balancing act for Hank, and Nadia dealing with their namesake particles acts as a brief, fascinating distraction. A sudden disappearance and reappearance as the elder and younger exchange places doesn't break the casting for a moment.

Cracks of light shimmer like wave-wrack as Illyana pours out power in two directions, the conduit of the apple acting as a more stable focus for Mike's spell. For him, the arcane current proves steady and stable, though every jot he pulls on goes through the apple and straight into the blonde Russian.

She, in turn, forcibly spins the torrent of power infused by the exceptionally mercurial, unpredictable nature of Limbo into cascading strands that settle over Hank like a cloak. His aura's poisoned state is something directly attacked by balancing him against herself. Her almost careless weaving injects blue-tinted mana through his aura, and where higher concentrations of toxicity intersect the spell, silver flame convulses in minute novas. The black patches tarnish the spell in reverse, certain compounds incinerated on the spot and others veering with lethal accuracy for the weaver at the centre. Cracked fractures like kintsugi pottery leave a scent in the air, the faint charge of ice, dark forests, and brimstone inextricably linked.

Don't mind the fact her shadow has a crown and other attributes of concerning nature.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The lines of light travel around the apple more. Zipping around the curvature of the forbidden fruit before the view of it is obscured by the fingers on one hand shifting, sliding between the gaps of the opposing hand. The hands press together, palms meeting palm as bright light peeks from the gaps.

Fingers lift, unthreading as the hands pull apart to show the apple gone but several tendrils of energy web between the two hands. As he pulls the hands further apart, the bright lines travel upwards, mimicking a jacob's ladder. Instead of ripping apart, the top most one stays, growing bigger and brighter as its smaller bretheren gets absorbed into its being.

Down to one large strand of light, Mike pulls his hands apart, causing for the light to snap over to one hand. Vanishing from sight.

Eyes widening, a deep breath is taken before he steps towards his friend. The fingertips curl to where the index finger of the hand the light disappeared into is the only one extended. The hand is brought over, pointed towards the injection sites. As the finger comes close enough, light escapes from the fingertip, traveling to the centerpoint between the three injection sites.

Spell cast, energy gone, Mike staggers back to avoid getting in the way of those still with tasks to do.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Pym starts to topple. Amanda feels the energy discharge wash over her. She pushes, which keeps him from flattening her, to be sure. Kneeling beside him, now, her eyes open, golden glow still suffusing them. Her power expands to flood over him, pulling impurities out of the serum, and thus out of his body, as the last dose does its work.

The pull of Illyana's magic is surprisingly strong to the Guardian of the Winding Ways. Her eyes lift from her patient briefly to the other blonde sorceress, catching a glimpse of her aura and her magic through the golden haze of healing. Still, she has not maintained her position on the Way by being easily distracted or thrown off. So, she returns her attention to Pym, muttering softly in German -- a bit of a protective spell... perhaps for luck, perhaps for strength, who knows. But it does its job.

However, her healing, especially at this level now, comes at a price. If there are plants in the room, they'll probably be dead by morning. She is pulling in life force from things around her, trying to avoid pulling too much from the souls gathered here, and from the ants she knows the Pyms prize like family. But it has to come from somewhere, and she can only take so much from herself -- though most of it does come from her own reserves, it's true.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
"You can do it Dad. You can do anything. That's maybe the only true thing they told me in the Red Room." Nadia squeezes her father tightly as she focuses on her attempt at transfusing his Pym Particles through sheer force of will, though force of will does not seem to be something that she is short on at all.

When the fields react briefly distorting space and time transposing their positions, she blinks a few times when she finds herself in the chair having crossed space without actually moving. "You can do it Dad!" She manages a last shout of encouragement before flopping back in the chair somewhat spent from her efforts and the explosive particle reaction. "Magic is so damn cool."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym gets to his feet. For those aware of such things, his aura, his Pym field all suddenly are wiped clean, reversed, untainted. Belatedly he removes the third syringe dangling from his bicep, flexing his fingers, then his arms. He stands up now, a little straighter. Then he abruptly shrinks. Maybe not as fast as his daughter or Janet do it. But he does shrink and springs into the air and onto his daughter's shoulder to plant a kiss on her cheek and hug her around the neck. "We need to talk obviously. We've been through and done so much and... I kind of lost you along the way and I am so sorry I did and I'm sorry if you seemed to lose me. We're going to talk but first... we are going to eat that pot roast!"